Blood Bag
by Shin Willow
Summary: Xander probably shouldn’t tell demons--former or otherwise--his darkest secrets.
1. 1

Title: Blood Bag   
Author: Shin Willow.  
Spoilers: Season 6 a little.  
Category: Drama  
Rating: R  
Summery: Xander probably shouldn't tell demons his darkest secrets, former or otherwise.   


Muffled, heavy beat of the music inside the nightclub thrummed through the brick wall, the dirty steel door, the roof, everything. Xander leaned hard against the brick wall opposite the club's, just as dirty and cold as its neighbor and he listened to the drums, and watched the dried blood colored wall waiting for something to come through the door. Literally, waiting for some thing to come through.

Took forever to get used to the guns. He felt all John Woo back here, 'cept he wasn't quite as cool looking when he uses the 9's. He might, but he couldn't really see himself squeezing bullets out of magazines like they were going out of style. Xander in so many ways missed swinging stakes and the medieval stuff: axes, swords and crossbows--the good stuff. Stuff that took him back, way, way back in the day. Days he missed awfully.

God, and the black trench! Xander so got it now why Dead Boy went around in one whenever he could. Before, he thought the vampire was trying to look all cool, but now Xander believed the coat was for hiding the blood. Whose ever.

The steel door bangs against the wall, clangs a vibrating rumble, then drowns when the pulsating music, Techno hip-hop mix, obnoxiously blaring rushes out into the alleyway. Two men, maybe, but Xander doubts it, stumble out. They look drunk, propping each other up as they come out and they don't see him. Xander thinks they are drunk, because these are vampires and vampires don't miss nothin'. Not the dangerous ones.

Guns stay in his hands, which are down at his sides. Fingers aren't even curled around the triggers. He's still not sure if these are the vampires he's searching for. Two of hundreds. So Xander waits while the pair amble forward, boots crunching over a dark rainbow of broken beer bottles and pulverized cocaine vials. Waits until they're about to turn and walk away down the alley, out onto the crowded sidewalk. Xander clears his throat, not very loud. It's kind of polite, the way Giles might.

This catches their attention and first one cranes his head around lazily and looks straight at Xander, darkness being no hindrance for a vampire, then the other sort of tilts his head back to look around the back of the first vampire's head. And that's them. Xander's fingers creep around the triggers.

"Hey, Kenny man, look! It's Blood Bag!" The first vampire exclaims. Xander can see the genuine look of surprise on its face. A face Xander could never forget, even while in game.

"No way! It is! Fuck me, what's it been? Three years? Jesus, I thought he was dead!"

"No way," the vampire not named Kenny replies as he steps away from the vampire that was. "Remember how we all fed off him? I think I must have sucked on him--and I mean that in a totally non-gay way--for an hour and he never even lost consciousness. He was like the fuckin' Bloody Horn of Plenty. I don't think he can die."

"No, no, I heard from Heath he bought it after we left Sunnydale," Kenny said shaking his head.

"Heath? That pussy? Guy probably makes up shit just to get morons, like you, to listen to him."

"Fuck you."

"No means no, buddy."

Both vampires were coming at Xander, never really acknowledging he was anything but their next victim. Or all you can eat buffet. Xander listened and watched silently, wanting them close, so close he'd see their eyes wide and bright. Involuntary breath, probably warm from the sweltering atmosphere inside the night club, heavy and nasty from alcohol, on his face.

"Maybe after we feed we can sell him to Loris. I bet he'd pay a grip for a running supply," Kenny suggested.

"Yeah, be better than that stagnant shit he buys from the Banks."

Xander listened to these words unblinkingly; they were words he'd heard many times before after finding the others. From the demons and vampires who knew who and what he was. Xander trained himself not to be afraid of the threats anymore. Of the promise of a future where he becomes an endless tap to be fed upon.

Xander and the vampires stood barely a foot apart, Xander unmoving against the wall. Still watchful, still silent. Fingers tight, tight around those triggers, almost applying the right amount of pressure.

"He hasn't aged. I told you. He smells young like back then."

"Maybe we should keep him for ourselves then."

"Right, it'll be like having a pet. We'll have to feed him and bathe him--"

"Bathe him?"

"Yeah, why the hell do you think I don't bite bums? I hate eating dirty food."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. We'll sell him, after we--"

The guns are up, and fast because even the vampires don't see Xander's arms move. Silenced nozzle of the weapons biting briefly into the soft flesh under their chins before Xander pops off two rounds from each gun into the vampires' skulls. The nameless vampire collapses and evaporates into a neat pile of dust; oddly his gray matter survives and runs down the grimy brick wall belonging to the club. Kenny's head remains intact, at least in comparison to his pal's. The force of the blast throws him back, stumbles, not unlike when he exited the club, before falling to the cutting cement.

Xander held the guns in place and watches the vampire twitch on the ground. He's seen this before, made it happen dozens of times. Xander knows vampires can't take direct headshots without losing most of their motor functions. Depending on which parts of the brain he's demolished with bullets, the vampires can become little more than cockroaches after their heads are chopped off. All reflex, no mind. Sometimes all mind and no reflex.

Kenny is the former.

Xander aims the 9 in his right hand at the vampire's left kneecap, fires. Next, the right and fires. Might as well be shooting a side of beef. Xander walks up to Kenny, his sneakers quiet on the glass. Kenny's eyes are wide, glassy and brown and fading. Blood began pooling around his head, cold before it even touches the ground. Xander aims the 9 at the vampire's neck and sends three bullets through flesh and bone. Tearing it all apart and Kenny is dust. Only his stolen blood souping shards of glass proved he was ever there in the alley.

Xander slipped the gats into the deep pockets of his trench. Two down, three hundred and forty-two to go. Turning, memories of the two vampires he killed there already disappearing from his memory, Xander made to leave the alley. By tomorrow he wouldn't even remember killing them. As promised.

"How long can you keep this up, Xander?"

Xander stopped walking but kept his back to the speaker.

"Until it's all over."

"Won't ever be over. Not between you and me. Not until you know nothing but suffering."

"You never did do anything half way, didja?"

"Half-assed is your way of doing things. I like to finish what I start."

"You didn't finish me," Xander whispered.

"Because I'm not finished with you. Not by half."

"I'm coming after you, Anya."

"If your precious Buffy and Willow couldn't take me what the hell makes you think you can?"

Xander finally revolves. Head bowed and says staring at the ground, "They don't want you dead bad enough, Ahn."

"It's nice to hear you're not apologizing anymore. Gotta say it bugged. Not like it meant shit, anyway."

Xander said nothing. He could feel himself shutting down completely. He can't handle Anya, not at all, not with emotions in play. Useless emoting that could never be resolved with the pistols in his coat. With slugs in her brains.

When the silence is ten seconds old, Anya breaks it. "How long did they feed on you? I forget."

"Ten years... but then you knew that. You watched."

"Sometimes, every now and then, just to see if you were still having a good time. Oh, and Spike sends his best."

Xander said nothing, moved not an inch.

Anyanka gave a sharp bark of laughter and said, "Time. Time was when I only had to go, 'Ssssspy'-- and you went ballistic. Golly-gee, Xander, it's like you don't care he left you there for years, joined your friends and was fucking Saint Buffy all while you bled for a living. Have you let that go already?"

"Anya," Xander began, raising his head to meet the demon's eyes, "you'll scream. I promise, you'll scream."

Anya smiled and began to vanish in a haze of gray smoke and swirling yellow bolts of energy. Highlighting every grimy detail of the alleyway. "I guess making one of your greatest fears come true kind of pissed you off, didn't it, Xander?"

Anya became a ghost, features growing vaguer and vaguer until she was disappeared. Just her parting words lingered, "Live Xander, trudge on and on. It's what you do best no matter how bad it gets. Always loved that about you..."


	2. 2

Faith stares at his forearm resting on the bar, tight, ropy cords of muscle flexing as he gripped the glass in his hand. Normally, she digs guys with scars, but Xander looks like something tried to eat him alive then changed its minds a few dozen times. _You can take dental impressions from those bite marks_. Faith hastily takes a gulp of her beer.

She absorbs those marks a bit longer before letting her gaze flit up to the man's face. She finds it hard to believe his face is clear of scars. Black stubble's growing out from his shaven skull, and around his mouth. He's scruffy-looking, and Faith usually digs that, too, but not on him. On him it just seems wrong.

For the first time Faith thinks it's tragic she has to kill him.

* * *

Xander swirled the cold, dark beer around inside his glass. He didn't drink much because of his physiology. He tried to a long time ago, back when he first got free of Hambly. Xander, homeless and broke, busted into the first liquor store he came across and set about drinking himself into oblivion. The next morning he was chased out and he never got anywhere near drunk. He was told later his metabolism was too keyed up and burned the alcohol out of his system before his body could reap its benefits.

Faith had yet to say anything, had, in fact, remained silent since the moment she took the barstool next to his. Xander wasn't complaining. Mostly concerned the urge to shoot her would become irresistible if she uttered a single word to him. Then again, if he did blow Faith away, maybe Buffy gets that perfect slaying buddy she's always wanted? Xander lifted the glass up to his lips and took a big swallow instead of smiling at his pondering.

"Hey, boy toy," Faith said.

Xander set his glass down on the counter and slammed his elbow between Faith's eyes. When she fell to the floor all human noise in the bar came to a halt, and Xander picked up his beer and started drinking again. Xander supposed he drank beer because he liked its taste. He worked his way through all the other liquors before discovering his immunity and beer was the only booze he could stand drinking recreationally. Tequila and Gin, the serious liver killing stuff? Nah.

"I don't want any trouble in here," the bartender said, already reaching for the sawed-off under the register.

"Fuck, man, don't sound like a cliché, or nutthin'," Faith commented somewhere behind Xander.

"Listen, just take your boyfriend, and your shit, out of here, okay?"

The sounds of chair legs pushed over the linoleum and cowboy boots and high heels scuttling away reached Xander's ears. A new disk began playing on the Jukebox. It wasn't any song Xander ever heard before, but he knew the singer. She was hot, or she was last time he saw her on tv. "I want my MTV," Xander murmured before taking another swig of beer.

Faith snorted derisively. "Yeah, he wishes."

The bartender decides to pull the shotgun and points in the remote vicinity of Faith's voice. "I said get out, bitch! Botha you!"

Xander finished his mug off and started to get up from his stool and the bartender swung the shotgun his way, which Xander ignored. Instead, he casually replaced the 9 he drew from his inside coat pocket and pulled out a sawbuck. "Hold it!" barked the bartender, gesturing emphatically with his shotgun. Xander ignores this, too, and places the bill on the counter. "Holy shit!" the barkeep hissed lowering the shotgun. His eyes, wide, and keyed onto Xander's stomach. Xander turned to see the bar's patrons had indeed hotfooted out of there at the first hint of trouble. Kinda putting lie to all those tales of rowdy brawls going on in Country Western bars.

Faith is standing directly in front of him, looking like hot, nasty sex on legs. It's been twelve years, and they've been kind to the slayer. That makes Xander want to shoot her all over again. Faith sees the same thing the bartender saw moments before and she blinks at the giant patch of bright red blood soaked into his once white tee-shirt, then her gaze travels downwards to find more blood staining Xander's blue jeans. His entire crotch is soaked; it looks like he pissed himself.

When Faith returns her gaze to his face, Xander can see the question she's asking herself in her brown eyes. She wants to know why she didn't smell the blood when they sat next to each other. Her nostrils flare as she sniffs the air inside the bar and probably realized just how strong and overpowering the smell of liquor is.

"I know what you're gonna do, Xander," Faith says forcefully. Refocusing on why she actually came here. Which wasn't to watch Xander bleed all over the place.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah, and I'm here to stop you no matter what."

"Are you boning Spike, too?"

Faith looks off to the side and scratches at her exposed mid-drift and looks back at Xander, giving that mocking/flirty grin that had Xander's pants down in, like, three seconds flat. "Nah, I don't play with B's toys anymore."

"Then I don't know why it matters to you one way or another."

"The fuck you don't know why! Because he's human now!" she cried.

"I don't care."

Faith peers at him closely now, suspiciously. "Did B…" she starts then shakes her head, holding onto the point as hard as she can. "I'll stop you. I'll kill you."

Xander tried to grin, but, failed. Half a dozen stinging comments about this slayer's penchant for killing people dying before they passed his lips. Took so much energy to be snarky these days. And pointing out Faith's hypocrisy seemed so useless. He didn't care enough to throw it in her face.

"I won't be stopped."

"And I won't punk out like Buffy and Red," Faith said dropping into a stance.

Xander shut his eyes very lightly and exhaled an even softer breath. "What do you mean?"

"They don't think you'll do it. But I know better. You'll come around eventually then B will lose her husband and Joey'll lose his dad. I won't let that happen. No way."

Xander opened his eyes and said one word. "Joey."

* * *

Then he opened fire. Faith was ready, throwing herself to the floor and rolling forward under Xander's aim. She came up and delivered a sidekick to Xander's wrist, and followed up with an elbow to his chest. The blow to his wrist was strong enough to break bones, and so was the hit to Xander's center mass. Faith, surprised he didn't lose his grip on the 9, watched as Xander hurtled over the bar, crashing into the assorted bottles of liquor stacked behind it.

Faith heard about the guns from Angel. Xander was supposed to have killed a lot of vamps with them. She expected—no, hoped—they'd make him overconfident when she confronted him. The fact he was bleeding all over the place was a plus. It probably made him slower than usual.

Faith treaded cautiously towards the bar, half expecting Xander to pop up and start blasting away. But knew Xander didn't survive her attack. And if he did, there was no way he was going to be in any shape to pop off any more shots. Faith stepped between the stools she and Xander sat at earlier and leaned over the countertop… and Xander wasn't there, just a lot of broken glass and a spatter of blood on the floor.

"Oh, shit!" Faith muttered as she turned her head, lining her forehead up perfectly with the nozzle of Xander's gun. She closed her eyes briefly and opened them again, focusing them on Xander. His features looked so bland, except for his eyes. Which were scarily gentle. Going by his eyes it was easy to fool herself Xander wasn't hard enough yet to pull the trigger. Like he wouldn't decorate the bar with her brains. Except Faith knew he would.

Faith managed a weak chortle, and said, "Slick, kid."

"Walk away, Faith," Xander says and he sounds more alive than Faith's heard him all night. "Pretend I don't exist for a little while longer. It's pretty easy."

"Can't do that."

"You will do that, or I'll kill you."

"If you're gonna, do it already, because--"

The gun disappears back into Xander's trench coat and he stands before Faith, arms down at his sides. His bleeding worsened and seemingly went unnoticed by Xander. He watched her without a word.

"What the fuck?"

"Do you have anything on you?"

"What?"

"Weapons?" he asked patiently.

"No."

Xander pushed at his coat and slipped his right hand behind his back. Faith watched closely as he pulled out a black knife by its handle. _Okay, nobody told me about there being any knives!_ Faith thought as Xander flipped the knife up a bit and caught it by its blade.

"This is a Battle Mistress E," Xander began, "the blade's nine inches long. It's about fourteen, over-all. Steel, doesn't weigh much. It's a good knife."

"So you know a little somethin', somethin' about knives--"

Faith, more on instinct than anything, caught the knife when Xander threw it at her. She didn't look at her hand clasped around the fitted canvas micarta handle—she stared disbelieving at Xander. He whipped the knife at her head knowing she'd catch it, but that didn't shock Faith nearly as much the fact he threw it so well. Xander now pushed his left hand behind his back and produced another blade. This one was smaller than the one he gave her. Almost identical in shape and color, except the grip was a leathery brown, which Xander grasped underhanded.

"Mine's bigger than yours." Faith couldn't resist.

"Always was."

"So… what? We're gonna have a cute little duel? I think somebody's inner geek is showing."

"You can kill me now, Faith," Xander said. "Stop me from going back to Sunnydale, and protect the people you care about."

"You can't really think ya can take me!"

Xander looked thoughtful for a moment before he shrugged and began taking off his coat. "Angel doesn't know everything."

It took a moment before Faith could respond to Xander's statement. The huge gash in Xander's side distracted her. Four long, ragged tears obviously—to someone in Faith's occupation, anyway—made by claws stretched from the back of Xander's ribcage on his left side all the way to the front. The soggy cloth of his shirt hung like strips of flesh. Faith realized with a sick feeling, flesh it might have been. _God, something ripped chunks outta the guy!_

"W-What?"

"I guess he's the one who told you guys. You." Xander shook his head. "Doesn't matter." Xander tossed his coat over a nearby table. His gun caused it to land with a big clunk on the Formica. "Should've stayed away from LA, anyway. Saved it for last…" Xander's ramblings trailed off and then he brought his knife up chest level over his heart with the blade pointing out. "Come on, Faith."

"I will end you, Xander. I'm not kidding around," Faith said dropping back into a stance, modified slightly for the knife in her hand.

"If you do, burn my body afterwards."


	3. 3

_"You understand there will be a great deal of pain involved." _

_The Doctor had many types come through his office over the years, mostly demons, but he could count on one hand the humans that opted for his unique services. The last human was a lawyer rewarded a new hand from his employers; the operation was a success—more or less. On the whole the Doctor personally believed the humans asking for his treatments were the most interesting, the most imaginative. With demons and their ilk, it was 'make me stronger' or 'remove this weakness' or 'reattach that'. All very standard tasks, the Doctor felt. Humans, however, always requested outrageous things be done to their bodies, rarely considering what the end results may be. Perhaps this young man will prove equally as interesting. Hopefully, more so._

_Said young man sat quietly in the chair on the other side of the Doctor's desk, his head bowed as he stared blankly at the Doctor's sparsely decorated desktop. His long, shaggy hair hung limp and soiled over his brow. The young man was dressed rather badly in fact. He wore a dingy T-shirt and severely faded blue jeans; this might have worried the Doctor if the young man had not paid up-front for the procedure. The Doctor was curious about where the young man procured the hefty sum, but not overly so; it wasn't his concern, really._

_"I understand if you are having second thoughts," the Doctor said after several minutes and the young man had yet to reply._

_"I… " the young man began sluggishly, before bringing his face up to look at the Doctor through the tangle of hair obscuring his eyes. His stubble scattered jaw working while his mouth tried to form words, as if the art of speech was lost to him. _

_"I'm… not having second th-thoughts," the young man finally said._

_"Glad to hear it. The operation you've asked for has never been performed on a human before, and I am looking forward to discovering how it will affect your… body… Is something wrong?"_

_The young man had lowered his head again in a subservient manner, but quickly brought it back up at the Doctor's query. The Doctor could see his intense effort to keep his gaze leveled. _

_"No. Nothing wrong," the young man replied._

_"Very well, then let me explain what you can expect from this surgery--"_

_"Don't need details," the young man whispered, "just how long until I can use what I get."_

_The Doctor leaned back in his leather-upholstered chair and steeples his fingers in front of his face before responding. "As I said before, no human has received this treatment, only a small number of demon life-forms. The soonest I've seen any utilize the enhancement was four months, and that was only after extensive physical therapy. Those who weren't able to adapt never fully regained use of their bodies because the pain, both mental and physical, was too crippling to overcome. There were even a number of deaths post-op due to massive shock."_

_"I understand. When can you do it?"_

_"Immediately."

* * *

_

Faith was fast, slayers generally were. She swung her knife with deadly speed and beautiful precision. It was like she was born with one in her hand. Using more skill than Xander could ever dream of using himself. But she wasn't faster than a vampire, no where near. She was too damn slow. Xander had so many opportunities to cut her, yet he ignored them all. Instead, he remained constantly on the defensive, stayed on the move, maneuvering through the short maze of tables and chairs inside the bar.

Xander operated on cruise control. He wasn't attacking at all, his blade striking out only to redirect hers. His main concern, not including gauging Faith in action, was to zealously protect his head since he didn't know how much she'd discovered before confronting him. Xander dodged two of Faith's kicks, experiencing the first hint of worry since the fight started. He could surpass her with a knife, but no way if it came down to physical prowess. Frankly, his speed wasn't going to be enough if he had to slug it out with Faith. Hence the whole bringing a knife to what should've been a gun fight deal.

"You gonna keep dancin', Xander?" Faith asked, halting her attack. Eyeing Xander with confusion even while trying to sound flip. Xander gave a tiny smile, because Faith's eyes told whole stories. He wondered how come he never saw the murder in her all those years ago.

Xander took a step, and, for an instant, he knew Faith lost sight of him. She cursed, ducking just in time to avoid a slash to her throat. Faith immediately swung her knife upwards along Xander's torso. The blade tore his shirt apart, but did no more damage than that. Xander leaped back to prevent a deeper cut to his flesh. Faith had a second to gasp at his chest before Xander continued his assault. He kicked his right leg out, intent on smashing Faith's temple while she was distracted. Faith quickly knelt down and avoided the roundhouse simultaneously spinning on her left foot and extending her right leg, which nearly connected with Xander's shin before he leaped onto the table behind him.

Xander landed with such grace he barely disturbed the beer bottles sitting atop the table. If Faith was impressed she didn't let it show. Her attack maintained momentum. She stood up and delivered a powerful front kick to the edge of the table, knocking it right out from under Xander's feet and sent it and the bottles smashing to the floor. Abruptly losing his footing was nothing for his reflexes to handle, but before he could land on his feet, Faith performed a spinning back kick, buried her foot in Xander's gut and sent him flying. Oxygen expelling from his lungs in a violent, painful gush. Faith dashed forward, ready to pounce on him the moment he plummeted to the floor. Xander took control over his tumbling body, though, contorted in mid-air and landed in a squat position. Then without missing a beat, jumped at Faith. They flew at each on a collision course, both their knives raised.

Xander brought his knife down, aiming the tip of the blade at the crook of Faith's neck, expecting her to either aim the same way or bury her knife in his shoulder since he offered no other clear target with his body. Neither possibility bothered him. Faith did the unexpected however; she dropped her knife and grabbed Xander's forearm, stopping the blade mere inches from her flesh. Then in one fluid motion, seemingly without effort, Faith maneuvered Xander's entire body and flipped him to the sticky, grimy floor flat onto his stomach. The move was pure Aikido. The realization momentarily stunned Xander; he never would have believed Faith of all people would know, much less employ, a non-aggressive martial art. Faith kept a bone-crushing grip on his right arm with one hand and buried her knee in the middle of his back. Xander's shock quickly faded and an icy dread filled him.

He knew what was coming next.

"Xander…" Faith's voice was quiet.

Xander could feel Faith's weight shift when she said his name. The next sensation he felt was her fist striking his forearm. Xander didn't even try to bite back the howl of utter agony that ripped every molecule of air from his lungs. The Steel Heart fell from suddenly nerveless fingers and rattled to the floor. Despite the pain he remained clearly aware of how his arm gave way under Faith's fist.

Xander's breathing had gone reedy by the time Faith let go of his devastated limb then folded her arm around his throat. Xander, weakened nearly to the point of unconsciousness, could do nothing when Faith lifted his slack body from the floor. Her arm squeezing just enough to hold Xander up while her free hand took possession of his uninjured arm and bent it behind his back, completing the classic restraining hold.

"Didn't have to be like this, Xander," Faith said, then started to crush Xander's neck with her arm.

_Just like old times_, Xander thought.

Briefly, for a single second, Xander considered letting Faith finish him off. The nihilistic urge consuming him before he could control it. Always there, waiting for moments like this. Whispering in his ear about how attractive dying can be. Death was a way of forgetting, too, wasn't it? Death would be so much more… agreeable. He wouldn't have to hurt anymore, with only decade after decade of searching and killing and pain and remembering stretched out ahead of him. All he had to do was do nothing.

Hang.

Give in.

Be nothing again.

_No happily ever after for Xander Harris, is that it?_ Xander raged inwardly._ At least everybody else is safe and happy, right? Living, loving, laughing, fucking, that makes it all better, right? While I waste away in a hole and everybody goes about their merry way. Until they forget my name, like I did once? Fuck that shit! I won't give in and I won't be nothing anymore. I will not hang, because hanging is just another way of bowing your head. I'm going to finish what I start. _

_Hear that, Anya? _

Fueled by anger and humiliation brought on by his momentary weakness, Xander forced strength into his legs and stood up. Faith tightened her choke-hold and vainly twisted Xander's arm upward in an effort to stop his rise, but her lesser height worked to Xander's advantage and he leveraged her feet off the floor. Xander tensed the muscles in his legs and his stomach and flipped forward. Faith yelped as they tumbled over, then cried out when her back struck the floor. Xander's added weight exaggerated the impact.

Faith maintained a hold around Xander's neck, but it weakened enough he broke loose. Once free, Xander rolled off her, his crippled arm flopping numb and uselessly as he did. Agony screamed through every pathway of his nervous system. He came to a rest when his body bumped against the upturned table Faith kicked out from under him. Making use of his good arm, Xander pushed himself up and hopped to his feet. Faith by this time had regained her senses and was on her feet, inspecting the back of her head with her hand as she blinked her eyes to refocus her vision. When her sight cleared, Faith looked at her hand and found it coated with bright, red blood. She sent a death glare Xander's way.

A smirk took Xander's lips. "Welcome to my world," he said.

Xander lifted his crippled arm from his side. The lower half of his forearm dangling grotesquely independent of the rest of the arm. The scene grew more disturbing when Xander brought his arm up as if he were flexing his bicep. Faith watched with sick fascination, wincing whenever the limp part of his arm swung. Xander's smirk vanished and his sweat-slicked brow became marred with groves of concentration. He focused on his heart and forced the organ to speed up and use its machine-like proficiency to pump blood directly into his arm. Slowly, the damaged muscle in Xander's arm re-inflated. The skin was stretched taunt; the bloated sinew made his arm look like an over-stuffed sausage.

Half the job done, Xander redoubled his concentration. Contracting the extra tendons and tissue layered beneath the skin. Once he was finished, he curled and uncurled each finger of his hand in rapid succession before finally making a fist and lowering his arm to his side.

Xander's attention focused solely on Faith once more, and he said, "Okay, Faith, let's try this again."

* * *

_Oh, boy, does Angel not know everything!_ Faith thought, after witnessing Xander's arm… what? _Do a pretty freaky imitation of an erection that's what!_

Faith couldn't believe what she'd seen at first, yet being a Slayer and everything that entails ushered Faith over her surprise in a hurry. Her mind worked furiously to understand Xander's ability. She prayed whatever it was it wasn't a healing power.

"Okay, Faith, let's try this again," Xander said, his arm back down at his side. Sweat dampening his forehead and dripping from the tip of his nose. His dark gaze cut into Faith with the intensity of a high powered laser.

"Damn, Xander, some trick you got there." Faith wiped the blood on her hand on her pant leg before shrugging off her leather jacket, at the same time she let her stare move over Xander's body. Lingering briefly on his bared chest, where hardly one square inch of skin was smooth. Scars that looked like old, twisted burn disfigurements they were so intertwined. Her gaze then inspected the gash in his side, which bled much slower than before but didn't look anymore healed than before.

Rapidly approaching the conclusion whatever Xander's trick was it wasn't accelerated healing, Faith ended her inspection with his right arm where her suspicions were confirmed. His arm sported a livid purplish-red welt where Faith punched him, which encircled the entire circumference of his forearm. Faith tossed her coat behind her, unconcerned with where it landed.

She brought her eyes up to Xander's and felt her insides freeze when she saw him pinning her with an amused sneer. "Figure it out yet?" he asked.

"Don't matter, I'm taking you down regardless."

Xander's amusement melted away, and his lips parted showing his teeth clamped together, the muscles in his jaw straining. "You think so?"

"Yea—shit."

The punch caught Faith below the ribcage and just above her abdomen. Xander stood beside Faith, his fist lodged in the dent it left in her midriff. The fist attached to the arm Faith broke moments before. Faith doubled over, her eyes widened until they were more white than brown. Xander took his fist away then jabbed his elbow down on her exposed neck. Until then Faith's only vocal response was a curse, but that hit had her gagging as she dropped to the floor. Faith knew she was in real danger and reacted instantly, catching herself with her arms and wheeled forward before Xander stomped his foot down where her back would have been. It, like the previous blow, could've paralyzed her.

Faith rolled to her feet, pivoted and initiated a roundhouse kick; she didn't know where Xander's incredible speed came from, but she accepted the fact he was fast—hella, fast. So she adapted, anticipating he'd be right behind her in no time. Xander ducked the kick, rose up and buried another punch in Faith's diaphragm. Faith took it. She was in full combat mode now. Faith threw a fast left jab at Xander's face, which he avoided by back hand-springing out of the way, his foot catching Faith under the chin, snapping her head back. Again, Faith gritted her teeth and absorbed the hit. She scuttled backwards to put more distance between herself and Xander to buy time and think of a way around his speed.

Faith moved behind a table, keeping it between Xander and herself. Faith maybe didn't jive to school back in the day, but even she knew the shortest distance between two points was a straight line. The tactic appeared to give Xander pause and he stood in place and watched her, an air of restrained savagery surrounded him.

Faith cupped her hand under her jaw. Xander's blows weren't the most powerful she'd ever experienced, but they still hurt like hell and left a lasting ache despite her recuperating abilities. _He's not as strong as I am… so he's landing hits where they'll do the most damage… cause me the most pain_. Faith narrowed her eyes. _He's being fast and precise because he knows he can't match me head up. And now those blades are starting to make sense. Anything to keep me from using my fists._

_Or not, _Faith thought irritably. Considering how fast Xander was with his hands he should have cut her to ribbons with his knife, but he didn't. _What is he playing at?_

"Gotta admit, you got game," Faith said, lowering her hand away from her jaw, placing it on the tabletop along with the other.

Xander took a step closer, then another and another, the grim expression on his face unchanged. Eventually, he reached the table and stopped moving. Faith wearily waited to see if he'd launch another attack, her body relaxed as she prepared to evade—right after she flipped the table over in Xander's face. Xander stalked slowly to the left and Faith moved to the right, keeping her palms under the tabletop and her thumbs curled over the edge. Xander changed direction, so did Faith.

"We gonna keep dancing, Faith?" Xander asked through gritted teeth.

Faith's left eye twitched, too nervous and confused to fully react to the goad. "What kind of game are you playing?"

Xander shook his head. "No game. Not anymore, I want you dead now."

Faith's eyes darted to the table on her left where Xander's trench rested with the automatic in the pocket. "Could have done that from the start," she said, returning her gaze to Xander.

"Want taste what face in Sunnydale," Xander replied.

It took a few moments for Faith to decipher that sentence. _Why the hell is he talking like a slow five-year-old?_ "You were testing me out?"

Xander gave no reply, didn't even nod. He attacked. Xander leaped into the air, legs spread eagle and parallel to the floor before he brought them together over the table and smashed Faith's head between his arches. When Xander's legs came apart, Faith stumbled back, her head wobbling. She saw stars instead of Xander's following move. Xander landed then braced his hands on the table's surface and used his arms to vault over the table, his legs together and knees bent before they shot straight out. His feet struck Faith in the midriff and sent her barreling through a section of tables and chairs. She came to a rest when her body hit with the far wall of the bar, the drywall dimpling and cracking on contact. Any air not knocked out of her lungs from the two-legged kick expelled once she struck the wall. Faith didn't even have enough oxygen inhabiting her lungs to groan when she slid to the floor.

_Jesus fucking Christ! Again with the diaphragm!_ Faith griped inwardly, her arms folded around her stomach, awed by the agony wracking her body.

Faith's ears picked up the quick snatching sound of crunching glass and wood. She threw herself away from the wall in time to avoid Xander's foot, which broke through the wall precisely where her head had been, leaving his leg deeply embedded in the wall. Faith scrambled to her feet and half ran, half-stumbled towards the bar, her back temporally to Xander. She turned once she heard the grainy breakage of the drywall as he pulled his leg free.

Faith stilled and waited for Xander to bolt in and attack. He didn't. Noting their surroundings, Faith soon understood why.

Xander's speed relied on running in a straight line and now he couldn't do that without causing a racket trampling over broken tables, chairs and glass. _He knows that's how I escaped when he tried to make my head one with the wall_, Faith determined. _He has to come at me a different way now. I got a chance. Just gotta figure out how to take advantage of…_ Out of the corner of her eye Faith saw glinting from the knife Xander gave her on the floor to her right. _Might work_… It depended greatly on how Xander attacked.

Instead of waiting for Xander to devise a plan, Faith provided him with an opening. She took several more steps back, positioning herself closer to the bar where the area was debris free, betting her backpedaling looked like retreating to Xander. He made no move to accept the bait. Seconds passed, then a minute. Faith's senses heightened to their highest degree with anticipation.

The music on the jukebox changed from the silky vocals of Shania Twain, to the low, lonely crooning of a less familiar male country artist. Xander made his move. He ran at Faith, though at a much slower pace to avoid the wreckage littering the ground. When he came within feet five of Faith he closed the rest of the distance with a darting jump. Launching at her with nearly the same speed of an unfettered run—but not quite.

Faith dodged to the side, allowing Xander to pass right by her. Then took a page out of Xander's play book and somersaulted away, but instead of just flipping once Faith flipped three times consecutively until she felt her right hand close around the hilt of the knife. Once upright Faith didn't waste time trying to sight Xander, she brought the blade up to where she figured his heart would be and lunged forward.

Faith and Xander jarred when their forms clashed. Faith's arm felt the impact of the knife's hilt guard hit Xander's chest. Its blade slipping through his flesh, between his ribs, so smoothly. Faith watched Xander's eyes close and his jaw drop when the pain registered. When his eyes peeled open again they met Faith's.

"I told you," she said, and yanked the knife out. Xander promptly vomited blood from his mouth and through his nose onto the front of Faith's T-shirt, and dropped to his knees. Faith gripped the bloodied knife tightly in her hand. Breathing shallowly, because nothing could mute the scent of blood in the air now. The blood drenching her. Faith looked upon Xander, fighting off the guilt she'd known she'd feel all along after completing the mission. Her neck vibrating with the need to turn away from the pitiful sight in front of her, but she wouldn't look away. It was only when Xander's pooling blood began spreading towards her that Faith's stare moved away from his kneeling form to watch the black liquid puddle around her boots.

"I'm sorry, Xander," Faith choked out, dropping the knife next to her foot. She turned away when she could no longer bear to watch Xander die. Xander called out her name and Faith turned around.

"Y-you don't know--" Xander started to say before another gout of blood filled his mouth, turning whatever he was going say next into a gurgle. Xander closed his mouth and forced the blood out between his lips before continuing. "You d'on kno ow much I w'shh y-you killed me that ni't."

Xander slumped to the floor, landing face forward in an ever-widening pool of his own blood.

Faith stared blankly, her features still. She refused to let Xander's final words get to her. If she did, their weight would certainly smash her to pieces.

Xander didn't deserve to die now any more than he did all those years ago. If only he wasn't so hell bent on hurting the people she cared about… _No! It ain't about him deserving to die or not, it's about doing a job that needed to be done because nobody else was willing to, for whatever their reasons. Like it fucking matters now, anyway._

Faith squared her shoulders and hardened her heart, turned on her heels and walked around Xander's corpse. She got her discarded jacket and shrugged it on. Faith strolled past Xander and she didn't spare him a single glance, the soles of her shoes picking up a fresh coat of his endlessly flowing blood. She tracked it all the way to the exit and out onto the concrete paved parking lot, where the crowd from the bar ambled together in the night. They gawked at her, but quickly parted skittishly before her blood-soaked figure.

_Buncha shit-kicking, hick motherfuckers! _

The prints began to fade then disappeared all together by the time she reached her cherry red pick-up. Faith climbed inside the truck, started the engine and peeled out of the parking lot. She didn't dare cry until she crossed over the Alabama State line.

* * *

Xander crawled to the bar and hoisted up himself with the aid of a barstool. He slipped repeatedly on his blood until he reached then pushed through the waist high swinging door separating the back of the bar from the rest of the room. Xander searched under the bar and found a dozen bottles of beer buried in a cooler stuffed with ice. He grabbed two with the fingers on his left hand then staggered back to the barstool area. He took the barstool closest to the little 'Do Not Enter' swinging door, placed one of the bottles on the counter and twisted the top off the other. The golden brew tasted more like blood than beer going down, but it was ice-cold and Xander chugged away. His over-heated body needed the cool down almost as much as it required his current inaction. Xander finished the first beer and quickly started on the second. 

Clint Black ended his tale of woe and gave way to the man in black himself.

Blood drying on his face, Xander nursed on the beer bottle, pondering his encounter with Faith. He reached two conclusions. One: rather Faith had stabbed him or not, his body would've lasted one, maybe two minutes longer—he never should have let the confrontation spin out of control in the first place. Faith hadn't come to Alabama to kill him, no matter what she claimed. She swaggered into the bar with no weapons, no back up, expecting her Slayer title to intimidate him—back him off. Xander was the one who took it to the next level. Two: he wasn't ready. Wasn't even close. If Faith took him out—killed him, as far as she knew—then he stood no chance against the combined might of two slayers, and possibly two witches. It was likely Angel and his people would stand against him, too.

_I have to get better—stronger. _

_I'm not ready yet_.

* * *

_"You've come a long way," the Doctor commented, studying readouts from the machine monitoring the young man's radically altered brain wave patterns._

_Seven months had gone by since the operation and four months since Xander's physical therapy ended. He was ready to leave the clinic, though the Doctor wished the young man would stay. The Doctor would have relished the opportunity to run the boy through a series of invasive of tests. It was not often the Doctor encountered specimens such as him. Alas, it was not to be; the Doctor couldn't afford to force Xander to stay. If word got out he abducted patients for experimentation, human or not, it would upset his entire operation. He'd lose millions. Holding Xander against his will, quite simply, was not worth possible ruin._

_Doctor and patient occupied Examination Room 4 inside the Doctor's private clinic located seven miles outside Los Angeles. The room's walls were white, as was the floor and ceiling. Like many of the rooms in the clinic it was windowless, but brightly lit by hologen lights. Inside the room there was a padded adjustable exam table, on which the young man sat. Against the wall opposite the dark lacquered door, was a connected stainless steel counter and sink. On the counter sat four plastic jars containing various medical supplies—bandages, unpacked syringes and antiseptics. Above the counter and sink were stainless steel cabinets bolted to the wall and ceiling. Near the examination table was an EEG machine, wirelessly tuned to the young man's brain wave frequency. _

_The clinic mired in dark magics and advanced medical technology, was a well-kept secret, even among the denizens of the underworld. Many patients who received their operations at the clinic didn't know its exact location. Enchantments warding the unassuming five-story—four of those levels underground—cement building immediately wiped all memory of the clinic from their minds._

_The Doctor wrote down a few more notes on his clipboard before turning to Xander, who was nude except for black shorts. _

_Xander was a hulking figure. The huge muscles in the young man's arms and legs sagged over bone (impossible, of course, the bone from all four limbs had been excised) possessing very little tone. At first glance Xander was body builder who ignored his exercise regiments. However, his limbs only looked this way while in a semi-relaxed state. Xander's torso, slender and solid, held its shape no matter what his physical circumstances. _

_Xander's cranium was closely shaved; kept that way by choice after a gland that produced neurotransmitters specifically designed to control his new nervous system was implanted into his cerebral cortex. Above Xander's left ear, a thin, pink X-shaped scar lingered from that surgery. The young man's face, now free of Xander's shaggy mane, displayed pale, rawboned features. Thick, black eyebrows set over hazel eyes, a prominent nose, and thin, but not too thin, lips. A handsome face, though unconventionally so._

_"Are you still experiencing migraines?" asked the Doctor._

_"Yeah."_

_"And the prescription I gave you?"_

_The young man shook his head._

_The Doctor knodded silently, not surprised by the response he got. Suffering from endless stimuli firing from what was, in truth, twenty extra organs had to be excruciating, yet Xander refused to take anything to dull the pain. Nevertheless, the lack of medication never slowed his adaptation so the Doctor didn't push the subject._

_"Well, the EEG indicates nothing out of the norm, and your body shows no signs of tissue rejection. I believe I can safely say your operation was a complete success."_

_"I can leave?"_

_"Yes. Though I want you to know you can contact me up to six months after you leave here for any questions or follow ups," the Doctor said. "Also, the pain medication I have prescribed can be filled under the name Jim Baxter for a year if you change your mind about enduring the migraines."_

_"I don't think I will," Xander droned out. The muscles in the young man's arms and legs shuddered under his pale skin, shrinking and tightening until they compacted—blended to match the brawn in his chest and stomach. Once finished, Xander slid off the exam table and stood upon the white, sterile, linoleum floor._

_The Doctor shrugged. "Just in case. The nurse at the lobby desk will sign you out once you're ready to leave."_

_"Th-hank you."_

_The Doctor blinked. He couldn't recall the last time anyone thanked him. "You are quite welcome."_

_Xander left the exam room, presumably to his suite to retrieve his clothing. The Doctor turned off the EEG before he too left the room. He took the elevator down to sub-level five where his private offices resided. _

_Once there he pulled up an electronic copy of Xander Harris' records, both medical and mystical, from his computer. _

_Young mister Harris truly was the perfect human candidate for the muscle enhancement procedure. His cursed ability to produce an infinite amount of enriched blood worked in perfect harmony with his new muscle tissue. Providing all the energy needed for them to work at peak efficiency. Even without his unique ability it was possible Xander could train his body to sustain prolonged physical activity without rest. With the curse he was capable of briefly acquiring near superhuman strength, agility and speed._

_If I could only get him on my dissection table, the Doctor thought. See just how spontaneously he can produce plasma. Is his heart required to feed his other organs? Or can each produce its own supply? Can Xander's body manufacture even after total organ failure? The Doctor shook his head, resigned. Someday, perhaps. The Doctor closed Xander's file and brought up another file belonging to a Morack demon who wanted his fangs elongated._

_The Doctor sighed._


End file.
